The Man of The Freaking Year
by MollyHooper
Summary: I'm bad at titles, and summaries, so well- this is my first story, so please let me know if I could be better somehow you can do that by READING AND REVIEWING! I will be posting more of this, but it's written down. Like on paper. : The pairing is Sherlock/Molly or Sherlolly or Mollylock or Molly/Sherlock or- AH! It one sided through most of the story. Rating may change, maybe.
1. Chapter 1

**FYI:  
****This is my first story... so... well... um... MOVING ON! I have lot's more written, but for some reason I WROTE it. Like, on paper... :( . So, because I'm lazy... I will just post one when I'm not... NOT A ONE SHOT!**

Molly turned the corner at St. Bart's, feebly trying to end her conversation with Evie, the woman she befriended at the coffee shop, when Evie comforted her while she was crying over Sherlock's ignorance. Ever since that moment, which was a few weeks after the Christmas incident, they were the best of friends. When she reached the door, she did not notice the muttering inside, and waved off the fact that the door was unlocked, simply assuming that she left it unlocked after work last night. Molly turned the handle, holding a bottle of water in one hand, books in the other, and her cell phone in the crook of her neck. She tried to end the conversation again, and with a sigh, said, "And I can't believe I **love** him! Sherlock Hol-"

She immediately dropped all of the things she was somehow managing to hold with only two arms, and a brunette distraction named Evelyn Allison on the other end of the phone, and quickly said "Call me at six Evie. I have to go"

Then, she took a second look at Sherlock Holmes, the man of the freaking year.


	2. Chapter 2

"Um, hello Molly..."

John said. Of course, John was the only person in the room to make eye contact and speak to the poor, mortified girl. Molly was hoping that she could make some mediocre, Molly-ish excuse. Like she was talking about her cat, Toby, but then she saw Sherlock and his name slipped in... or something of that matter. So she started the predictably awkward conversation with "How much of t-that phone c-call did y-you hear?"

Sadly, it was Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective extraordinaire that looked up from **her** rainbow striped notebook (he probably got to it before John's) that the pathologist used to write down grocery lists. He simply replied with an off-handed tone, "We heard every thing that you said from the moment you dropped your bag at the doors of the hospital."

All of Molly's ideas suddenly went down the drain. That was a lot of talking on her part. "H-How," she stammered, "did you hea-hear all t-that?"

This time, thankfully, the sympathetic Dr. Watson spoke. He calmly spoke, as if trying to relax a petrified horse. "Molly," He started. "On Wednesday, yesterday, Sherlock asked - told, you to get a recording device, a little rubber leaf, that he put in a local cafe. He has a radio in his pocket, incase anything happens. It would seem, that when you dropped your bag, it turned itself on." The pathologist's eyes widened. This was around the time she started talking about Sherlock. She moved towards the door, hoping to escape from this nightmarish situation. As a matter of fact, she thinks she's had a nightmare similar to this one. But, again, Sherlock surprised her, stood up and walked towards her. He wouldn't look her in the eye as he gave her the notebook he was scribbling in. Oddly, he has terribly handwriting. She could, however, make out her conversation, or at least what **she **said.

**-Yes Evie, he's a 'consulting' detective-**

**-No he isn't-**

**-HE ISN'T GAY!-**

**-Watson is just a flatmate!**

**-He never notices me-**

**-Uh huh-**

**-He always messes with my feelings!-**

**-Just to get stuff I would have given him anyway-**

She winced. He wrote down every last word that she had said. He probably deduced it several times. She got her books from off the floor and placed them on a table. Repeatedly scolding herself for being stupid, she wiped up the water she spilled and recycled the bottle. She grabbed her phone from on top of the books, and put that in her pocket. Molly muttered a goodbye to the men and took her things, rushing out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed and favorited my story! This really gives me the drive I need to complete it! (I would anyway!) :D Here's chapter three! I started to change the format a bit because my stories were looking small. And sad. :( ... XD LOL! - Not really actually all that funny... :| just... start reading! v *Mumble mumble***

* * *

After returning home, an exasperated and depressed Molly Hooper ran up to her room, sat down on her new four poster canopy bed, and sobbed. She sobbed her heart out. Eventually, her cat Toby leaped up on to her green and brown duvet, and nuzzled his furry head against her arm, like a feline form of sympathy. "H-Hey Toby." She choked.

Toby meowed in response to her sob. Molly had spent time around Toby since he was a kitten in the shelter she volunteered at. She **knew **that he was hungry. She slowly sat up, and put on her 'sad slippers'.

The slippers were a fuzzy pink micro-fiber mess of kittens and hearts. She got them from her mother on her last birthday. It was one of the only presents besides several coupons from all of the places she has visited, and on impulse, signed up for their 'birthday clubs'. She had lost her train of thought again. Anyway, she wore them when she was thinking about Sherlock. Of course, thinking about Sherlock made her sad. Thus, they were dubbed the 'sad slippers'.

She clumsily made her way to the kitchen, and opened the bin that she kept Toby's stuff in. The pathologist opened a bag of her cat's favorite food, and poured it into his bowl. He followed her hand from the counter to the table, where she placed the ceramic cat bowl of food down around his eating spot, which was placed under her table. She also turned on the television so she didn't feel lonely. After temporarily turning her loneliness off, she observed Toby eating his cat food. He seemed to sense this, and meowed sweetly, as if to thank the lovelorn Dr. Hooper

-**RRRRIIIINNNNGGGG**!-

The ring of a telephone startled Molly. She wondered who would be calling her around rush hour, until she looked up at the clock she keeps above her television. It read six on the button. How very like Evie. Punctual. Pretty. Clear. Assertive. Strong. Smart... Not at all like me, thought Molly. She noticed that her eyes started to water, and that she forgot to turn of the television, **and **pick up the phone. After doing the two in that order, she felt a rush of jealousy as Evie's confident and caring voice came through the other end. "Is this Dr. Molly Hooper?"

"Y-Yes." Molly stammered. She has got to stop doing that!

"That's your Sherlock voice! I'm coming right over!" Evie hung up and started to drive. She knew that git Holmes was involved in her shy friend's distress. Molly didn't have a 'Sherlock voice'. It was just Evie knowing her friend. Or then again, maybe her voice does get a little pitchy when she is talking about the detective... Evie somehow managed to get to Molly's flat without running several people down. A few rare misses were on accident. The rest, not so much... Evie sprinted to the door. She decided to wait outside with three coffees, and let her friend compose herself.

On the other side of the door Molly quickly brushed her hair, and changed out of her sad slippers. This was the best she could do, besides wiping up her tears, to eliminate evidence of her tearful Sherlock-inspired thinking. She opened the door, because she knew Evie, the now redhead, would give Molly a few minutes. Her friend rushed inside the door, holding three cups of coffee. Wait, three? One, with Evie's lipgloss on it, one with Molly written on it, and one with black and two sugars written down on it.

Molly's time in the lab with Sherlock had trained her into connecting black coffee with two sugars in it and Sherlock Holmes. Which is why she recognized Evie's plan almost right away. Mr. Holmes himself would be proud. "NO!" Molly shouted. "I will not go see... go... go se **Sherlock Holmes**!"

Too late. Evie had already grabbed her wrist, and it seemed to the shocked Ms. Hooper, that in the blink of an eye, she was moving towards 221, and up the stairs to flat B, black coffee in hand. She placed the note and coffee, knocked on the door, then immediately scurried down the stairs and into Evie's car, and sped away. "Tell me again why I did this?" The morgues attendant questioned.

"Because! You want him to know you care!" This, Evie realized, was one of the most incorrect things to say at the time.

Molly's eyes teared up. "H-He does know I care. He uses that fact to get what he wants."

"Oh, oh, oh, OH! Molly! I'm so sorry! It slipped out." The new redhead apologized sincerely.

"It's okay." The natural redhead stated.

The two friends pulled in to Evie's flat, and they sat down on her fuzzy blue couch, and almost as if it were synchronized, sighed heavily. It was around this time that Evie developed a plan.

"Why are you smiling like that Evie? You only smile like that when you have a pl- wait, you have a plan, don't you?" Hmph. Her surprise was ruined. Oh well. The show must go on!

"You know my friend Hank?" Evie didn't wait for a response. "I think you two should go on a date.

"B-But doesn't he... isn't he..." Molly stammered.

"Yes." Evie deadpanned. "He's gay. That's the point."

It took Molly all of ten seconds to get it. "Oh! T-To make Sher- Sh- 'you know who' jealous? It wont work."

Evie look taken aback. "It works on **everyone**. Look, I know he cares about you. This will just be a little... encouragement." This seemed to work.

"Oh, okay!" For the first time all day, Dr. Molly Hooper looked exited. She smiled ear to ear, and jumped up to move to the phone, her usual sadness gone. Her pretty much abnormal grin turned in to an almost Sherlock-like smirk.

"Let's call Hank."


End file.
